


Cigarette Swill

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Cigarettes, Espionage, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Mission Fic, Undercover as a Couple, minor references to a past smoking addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26694940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Chloe has a front row seat to Bobby's one-man show. Rather, she has a seat in an air duct.
Relationships: Chloe Barge/Bobby Zilch
Kudos: 6





	Cigarette Swill

**Author's Note:**

> i finished my first drafts for zine pieces, so i rewarded myself by finishing this oneshot that's been sitting in my google docs for like a month. i can have agent barge/agent zilch as a treat.

The meeting place was insidious. With each twitch of her nose, Chloe breathed in dust, soot, and rot. Cracks littered the few windows, and the light bulbs flickered overhead. Rustic, thick liquid like a metallic soup festered in massive vats, untouched for who knew how many years. Enormous pipes criss-crossed at every angle, from the floor all the way up to the ceiling, with said ceiling having collapsed in on itself ages ago. Nuts and bolts were scattered across the glass-ridden floor, and the rats scurried over them without a care in the world.

From her vantage point in the air duct, the dilapidated factory now served as the perfect place for the dredges of Manhattan's psychic society. She pressed her hands on the cold metal enclosed around her. She was thankful her lithe build had allowed her to crawl inside, but she wished she had her helmet to protect her from the various odors wafting up from one of the dozen tanks. Her stomach twisted from the unknown stench rising from the bubbles popping within it.

She focused on the lone table right underneath the air duct’s opening. Through the slats, she saw her targets. The nobodies were two, hulking bodyguards. One had a long, scraggly beard. The other was bald with his expression fixed in a permanent scowl. Their jackets and jeans were wrinkled, but they stood tall and proud, eyes constantly darting around in search of intruders, yet they never bothered to look up.

On the contrary, Mason Insley sat in a rickety chair with his legs crossed. He drummed his fingers along the table, the handle of his briefcase tightly clenched in his other hand. He wore his old Psychonauts uniform, which had seen better days when Chloe noticed the nearly pitch black coffee stain on his right sleeve.

Mason checked his wristwatch, the blue plastic contrasting with his sandy orange skin. “Almost time for ‘im to show up,” he remarked, hints of a Southern drawl in his voice.

He set the briefcase on the table. Caressing the brown leather seams, he unclipped two buttons on the side and settled back in his seat. Checking his watch again, he nodded at the bearded goon.

 _Are you in position?_ Chloe thought, watching him amble out of her sight.

 _I’m at the side entrance just like they told me,_ Bobby replied. I hear him coming.

She affirmed his statement and waited. Footsteps echoed from below followed by idle chatter. She observed Mason turning his head in the direction of the noise, not giving his guest the dignity of standing.

“Agent Zilch,” Mason said, Bobby’s boots crunching on the glass and debris, “I’m glad ya made it on time.”

“I remember you were always a stickler for that shit,” Bobby spat out. He slumped down in the seat across from him and spread his legs, resting his elbows on his knees.

“No uniform?” Mason asked.

Bobby looked down at himself. “I’d look too fuckin’ obvious. I don’t want any cops tailgating my ass,” he retorted.

She agreed. The choice in darker clothing, a jet black hoodie and jeans with holes in the knees, made him appear more like a jaded civilian. She watched him itch through his hair, which had been left unbrushed to coil out in matted curls since last night. He truly appeared like one of Mason’s bodyguards, the similarities in attire bordering on uncanny.

“You already look like you want the job,” Mason said, tapping his thumb on the briefcase’s handle.

Bobby shrugged, a careless slouching of his shoulders. “Hey, when you contacted me with the gig, I was already pissed at the Psychonauts.” He tapped the corner of the briefcase. “So, you said this was a big scheme, right? How much cash are we talking about?”

Chloe saw Mason’s grin twitch. He leaned forward, elbows digging into the table. Glee pooled in his eyes, a shade of liquid silver like the slop swirling in the vats. “Oh, you can bet your biscuits that if this goes off without a hitch, you’ll be making thousands, no, millions.” He pushed the briefcase towards Bobby. “Check ‘er out. Just a li’l sample of what’s to come.”

Bobby flipped over the flap and hummed. He picked up a wad of money and weighed it in his palm. He thumbed through it and set it aside, slowly bobbing his head. Gathering a few more wads, he whistled. “Looks like you got thirty grand pretty easily,” he remarked, index finger tracing the elastic band around the last wad. “How’d you do that?”

“What a little telekinesis can do to just one bank vault in the boonies, you know?” Mason twirled his finger, and out slipped a few hundred dollar bills from the bands. Shifting them back in place, he hunched towards Bobby, who continued counting the money. “So, the gig.”

Chloe slipped her hand into the pocket of her Psychonauts uniform. The worn wool brushed against her wrist as she gripped her Psycho-Portal. She felt a stray splinter dig into her pinky finger, but she ignored it, Mason’s explanation captivating her attention.

“As I told ya, there’s a Citigroup bank that opened for the richest clientele in NYC. All of those superstars and celebutantes, they’ve all shoved in their riches.” He clapped his hands. “Think of it. Hundreds of thousands of millions of dollars just sittin’ there. It’s begging to be stolen...” He pointed at Bobby. “...by the likes of us.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bobby asked, his intonation rising along with his smirk into his cheek. “And what’s the role you got me playing?”

She could tell he was enjoying his part. Acting had never been Bobby’s strong suit as a child. His expressions shone too easily on his face, even betraying what he really felt as an adult, not that Chloe minded. She preferred his honest emotions. 

But playing the role of villain was laced with the expertise that Bobby already mastered. He sunk back into his cutthroat ways effortlessly when it came to certain assignments. On those missions, he posed as a mercenary, a psychic arsenal ready to maim for the highest dollar. He flaunted his skills to pique the interest of anyone scheming something malicious whether it was political or personal. People wanted to buy his power, so the Psychonauts let him parade around as a loose cannon, open for anything as long as the money talked. It sometimes unnerved his fellow Psychonauts when it came to him infiltrating more powerful psychic mafiosos, military officials, or terrorists to uncover their schemes. How he could laugh and drink with them while they discussed assassinating senators against their regimes and then later explain what he had learned at headquarters with a straight face made the higher-ups’ skin crawl.

Seeing it in action simply made Chloe proud of him. He was a wonderful agent regardless of what anyone said. No one could play his roles, and seeing it in person made her feel like she had all access to a one-man show. Even now, he was digging in his heels and goading Mason for exactly what they needed to hear.

“We’re the diversion while you go do your ol’ lockpicking,” Mason informed, smacking his knuckles into his men’s stomachs; the bald bodyguard grimaced. “These guys, oh, you wouldn’t believe their armaments. You’d think AK-47s would be like Nerf toys the millisecond you see what they got up their sleeves.”

Chloe focused on the bearded goon. He brushed his bruised knuckles against his chest. The implication was not lost on her.

Bobby cackled, leaning far back in his seat. He crossed his long legs and asked, “Your boys came prepared, huh? What, are you guys planning on doing all of this today? Ya didn’t actually give me a damn date.”

“By dusk,” Mason said, the copper incisor in his mouth reflecting Bobby’s sneering visage.

 _Is that good enough?_ Bobby asked, laughing again, his brows coming together.

 _Hollis wants more. Keep pushing,_ Chloe replied.

Mason reached into his breast pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes. Although Chloe could not see the brand name, it seemed cheap based on the torn, worn edges. Mason pulled one out and tossed it to Bobby. Plucking another for himself, he formed a small flame on his index finger, lit the tip, and inhaled long and slow, then breathed out a thin cloud of gray smog.

Bobby reached for the cigarette. He pinched it, his hair obscuring what Chloe assumed was his uncertain expression. Based on his other hand going towards his mouth, she knew he was nibbling on his fingernails. As Mason blew out another trail of smoke, Bobby fidgeted with it and glanced at her air duct.

 _I know you quit, but you need to keep up appearances. He’s close to a full confession,_ Chloe insisted, a small frown on her face.

Bobby tucked his head down in a slight nod, biting the cigarette. She rubbed her neck as he dangled it between his lips. He flicked the end of it, a flare sparking and dying from the friction. Smoke rose from the tip, and he kept it still in the corner of his mouth, his foot slowly starting to tap, his agitation palpable.

“So, lemme get all of this straight,” Bobby said, taking the cigarette out and setting it between his index and middle finger. He huffed out hints of smoke and cleared his throat. “You want me to be your lockpicker while the three of you hold up this bank? Sounds like a good sting, but I’m pretty sure New York City has banks that are less new but have the same amount of dough. Ya know, easier vaults and stuff. “ He took a quick puff. “What made this one so special?”

Mason chuckled, a hacking sound from the smog blocking his airwaves. “Oh, this one has the personal finances-” He threaded his fingers through his graying hair, suave enough for Chloe to roll her eyes. “-of Hollis Forsythe.”

 _Bingo,_ Chloe thought, grinning to herself.

Bobby whistled again and tilted his head. “The Lesser Head? She keeps her cash in that bank?”

“Transferred it all a week ago when I did a little…” He sniggered. “...excursion in her personal checking. You know all about how good I am with hacking their systems, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, didn’t you get fired for trying to scam the Grand Head outta thousands?” Bobby asked, watching charred, papery bits fall from his cigarette.

“Hey, second’s time the charm with the Lesser Head.” He shook his head and took in another gasp of smog. “It’s how I was able to get your email again after all this time, Bobby-o. Ya sure like keeping the same passwords, huh?”

Bobby uttered dry, cynical laugh. “Sure was a surprise finding an email sent by you from my own account detailing all this vague shit about robbing Hollis blind.” He inhaled from the cigarette and heaved it out, Chloe noticing how his mouth twitched. “So, you wanna pull a bank heist and get all the cash belonging to the Lesser Head and a bunch of rich guys? Did I summarize it right?”

Mason smacked his hand on his knee, his smile sickening. “You bet! Perfect plan, ain’t it?”

“Sounds ideal,” Bobby crooned, rubbing his chin. He aimed his cigarette at the vats. “And I know this is a separate question and all, but what’s the deal with that shit in there? Smells funky.”

“The gunk? Oh, right, almost forgot about that.” He shook his head. “I thought I mentioned it in the email, but well, my bad.” Mason levitated his cigarette and flicked it high in the air. It pirouetted, diving gracefully into the rusted container. Chloe squinted as it sank into the thick, belching slop, its gurgling unsettling her. “Liquid psilirium.”

Her Psycho-Portal dangled between the slats. She slipped it back and pressed it against her palm, watching Bobby twist his head over to the tank. He stiffened, gripping the edges of his seat and the table. The cigarette was tightly clamped between his chapped lips, bits of smoky residue falling on his jeans while Mason inhaled without a care in the world. She could have sworn Bobby glanced at her, but he turned his attention back to Mason, who crossed his legs on the table.

“You got shock written all over your face,” Mason sneered, idly stomping his heel and jostling the table. “See, I’m sure the Psychonauts have a read on me. Sure, they got rid of me when I was an intern, but I know I’m not off their radar.” He hitched his thumb at the vats. “That’s what those are for. Making anyone who’d try to stand in our way forget everything.” He brushed his knuckles on his lapels. “No memories, no clean up, no hassle. Splash the employees on arrival, and they’ll be in their own little fucked up worlds.”

Chloe chewed on the inside of her mouth. She thought the mission was going smoothly, but it took a turn for the precarious. Using psilirium on ordinary people risked severe harm to their psyches. Standing in the same room as psilirium caused hallucinations greater for them than what psychics typically endured, their brains unable to handle the magnetic pull and power emanating from even a single shard. 

To her knowledge, the Psychonauts had rarely experimented with liquid psilirium. It was entirely unethical and banned after a classified incident had gone terribly wrong decades ago. She knew if any regular person was submerged in such a foreign chemical, then the consequences would have been deadly.

 _Subdue his men and contact headquarters for a psilirium specialty team. I’ll take care of Mason from the inside,_ Chloe thought while Bobby took a long drag, his eyes closed.

Smoke wafted from his mouth as he sighed. “You know, I gotta say that this plan is something else,” he jeered, dropping his cigarette. He crushed it under his boot, dragging it between glass shards and dirt. 

Mason furrowed his brows. His shoulders rolled forward as he stood up. One bushy eyebrow was arched when he leered at the bald bodyguard. Checking his watch, he asked, “And what’s that supposed to imply? I don’t like that odd tone you’re taking with me.”

 _Bobby, what are you doing?_ Chloe thought, tightening her grip on her Psycho-Portal. She pursed her lips at his continued silence, observing him drag his heel back and forth on the cigarette until it became indistinguishable from the debris.

 _Don’t worry. See if you can figure it out, babe,_ Bobby replied, quietly snapping his fingers by his thigh. 

The screws on the air duct jostled. She pulled back, tensing. She watched them slowly unwind, barely keeping the entrance plate secure. A little push from her would cause it to come crashing down on the table and alerting them to her presence.

While she would have preferred knowing his plan, he tickled her intrigue. She supposed Bobby wanted to string along Mason and make him feel like an idiot. Other agents would have deemed him imprudent, jeopardizing the mission for the chance at making someone else a fool.

But asking her to figure out his scheme reassured her. It was as if he was creating an opening for her. And as the last screws came undone, she grabbed the slats and set it aside, her view of Mason’s head like a bullseye on a dart board. 

“Your plan was decent up until that last part,” Bobby finally said, scooting his chair back and standing. He let it clatter to the floor. “Y’see, there's a massive flaw. Proverbial wrench in the machine or whatever the hell you wanna call it.”

The bodyguards slipped their arms into their sleeves. Chloe swallowed. She readied her Psycho-Portal and waited for any signal.

“Like I asked, what the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Mason snapped, lip curling. He dug his fingernails into his palm, his knuckles white as he quickly took another hit from his cigarette.

“Just ooone, biiig, fucking issue,” Bobby drawled out, smiling hard enough for his gums to show.

“Well, don’t dilly-dally with the damn concern! Tell me!” Mason snarled, slamming his fist on the table. The briefcase trembled and spilled its contents. Wads of money slipped off the table and landed by Bobby’s boots.

Bobby raised his hands. “Whoa, you’re working up a sweat,” he said, snickering.

Mason wiped his brow. He forced his mouth back into a smirk and squared his shoulders. “I’m not a trying man, Agent Zilch, but I like to cooperate with people who are forward with their issues. The word game ain’t your style, and it ain’t mine.” He took another hit, his cheeks paler than Chloe remembered. “What’s wrong with the plan? How can I fix it?”

He gestured at the canisters. Following his lead, Chloe peered at the slick, oily substance swirling within the nearest tank. It continued popping and stewing, the concoction like a grotesque soup.

_Any psychic in close contact of psilirium should have-oh._

She closed her eyes and nodded to herself. The realization dawning on her made her feel like she should have immediately comprehended the fatal flaw in Mason’s outline. The conclusion seemed painfully obvious, and now that she understood, she was surprised Mason had even suggested it in an otherwise acceptable criminal plot.

 _Astute observation,_ she thought, grinning at Bobby.

“We’re a couple yards away from the nearest vat of psilirium slop, but why the hell aren’t we affected?” Bobby demanded, and the way all the color drained from Mason’s face elicited a laugh from the back of his throat. He gripped his forehead, unable to stop cackling while Mason sputtered at him, his excuses becoming more pathetic by the second. “This stuff ain’t liquid psilirium, dumbass. It’s probably a swill of shit that’s been left to fester, and you confused the smell for it,” he explained, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Maybe you read the file wrong on what liquid psilirium smells when you hacked into HQ?”

Mason’s mouth twitched. The corners of his lips squirmed up and down. He fidgeted with his watch, his attention falling back on his bodyguards. Clearing his throat, he snapped, “Well, whatever! It doesn’t matter when we got weapons like-”

Bobby thrust his hands out and telekinetically snatched the goons by their throats. Their arms instinctively fell out of place, their grips on the guns hidden under their clothes lost. He slammed his palms inwards, the bodyguards shrieking for a split second until their heads cracked together, unconsciousness claiming them before they collapsed on the ground.

Bobby splayed them out on the glass. He raised his gaze to Mason, who stood stupefied, frozen on the spot. Bobby stepped forward, his grin as callous as his persona. He snatched the briefcase off the table, Mason opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish, and Bobby relished in the terror etched in his expression.

“Man, you wish you had the same bite as your bark,” Bobby sneered, leaning into the table. “Too bad you’re not gonna have the chance to do anything about it.”

“Goddamn you, goddamn you, I’m-I’ll-I-!” Mason choked on his rage. He gnawed on his quivering lower lip, nostrils flaring and eyes welling with tears. He jab himself in the temple with his thumb and thrust out his other hand, insults bounding off his tongue at Bobby, who lifted his head and stared at the air ducts.

_Click._

Mason blinked. He lowered his arms, and his eyelids drooped. His head dipped, suddenly heavy, and he gazed listlessly at the rats scurrying towards Bobby's mangled cigarette.

Chloe’s Psycho-Portal, which had landed on the crown of his head, ended his enraged spiel. It always satisfied her when she could silence an enemy in mid-rant. She shimmied out of the air duct, her thin form popping through the opening without much trouble. She floated down and sat in the chair Bobby pushed upright for her, glad to finally be away from the wafting fumes, her stomach no longer unnerved.

“I’ll watch these guys and get HQ for some help with the clean-up. Do your thing, Chloe,” Bobby said, grinning down at her.

“All I have to do is make him forget Hollis’ banking information, and then, mission accomplished,” Chloe replied, her smile soft. She tilted her head. “You acted like a real bad boy. It was very enjoyable watching you put him in his place.”

His grin took a turn for the crooked. He scratched his back and shifted his gaze to the containers, chuckling off-key. Heat colored his cheeks a light purple, and it seemed no matter how many times she complimented him, Bobby melted.

She focused on Mason’s slumped form. Sucking in a breath, she closed her eyes and left her body behind. Her astral projection rose as a lithe, eggshell white mirage that floated in front of her target. Her surroundings became glossed in translucent paint, thinner and elongated until she propelled herself into Mason’s mind. The last thing she felt before she was entirely gone was Bobby’s hand on her back, keeping her, as always, steady.

**Author's Note:**

> chloe comes back and finds bobby sitting on the dudes because he had to knock them out again because hq is taking another hour to send someone over to properly arrest the non-psychic folk and another agent to confiscate all of mason's electronics. they end up playing poker to pass the time because bobby keeps a deck of cards in his hair.
> 
> chloe, later: lesser head, why would you make your password vodellobooty? that's just embarrassing.  
> bobby explodes with laughter. hollis fires him.


End file.
